My heart can’t handle this I’m going to bed
THEY RESCUED THE KITTY AND HUGGED IT OH GOD
oh great now i’m crying
oh my this gave me all the feels
the kids are alright
I feel like too many people think “online” and “fake” are interchangeable words.
some general boob-having problems
THE DARTS, THEY DO NOTHING
the expressions and body language in this are fantastic.
To all you lovely people with boobs, thank you for being awesome <3This is the realist shit that I have ever seen.
Is having tits really this uncomfortable?
More so when you ARE “busty” cuz then you get to factor in back problems caused by them.
the times I said “fuck it” and just let them get supported by a table. aaah yes. *lazy*
the number of times food ends up down your shirt OR crumbs in your top. and the weird way your bust ends up wet when it rains BUT EVERY OTHER PART OF YOU STAYS DRY LIKE WTF EVEN
Fun fact: John Cleese was actually supposed to say some really long and complicated name, but he forgot it and just said, “Tim” and everyone just rolled with it.
Drawings by John Pusateri
New Zealand based artist John Pusateri creates near photo-realistic drawings of beautifully colored owls using pencils, charcoal, and pastels. Pusateri currently teaches in the Department of Architecture at Unitec New Zealand and currently has a number of works available through Seed Gallery.
always reblog owls
Holy mother of all crossovers. I NEED THIS LIKE AIR. BECAUSE JACK WOULD STILL BE THERE. AFLODKJF AL;SDKJF;DIFJA;OEIFN
SOMEONE FINALLY DID IT
BUT I NEED MORE.
OH MY GOD THIS IS BEYOND PERFECT
SOMEONE WRITE THE SHIT OUT OF THEM REUNITING PLEASE I WILL GIVE YOU MY FIRSTBORN CHILD
THIS THIS THIS ^^^
Dear God, yes.
It’s been almost a year and Steve is running.
He’s not running to anything or running from anything, he’s just running. To get the crisp air in his lungs and maybe, if he goes long enough, the burn in his legs. Things have gotten easier - not easy, just, not as hard - and he doesn’t have to run nearly as long or nearly as far to get into the head space he needs.
Okay, so maybe he’s running from something after all.
The park is sparse this time of morning, not deserted but almost everyone he passes is out for the same thing he is. There’s a whistle as he passes the same tree for the third time - a cat call of sorts - that he ignores just like he does all the rest. But on his next round he thinks he sees something, something familiar so the fifth time he slows down.
The whistle sounds again, just as lude and teasing as before but that is definitely something he has heard in another life.
Steve slows, fully taking in the figure: laid back and relaxed, ankles crossed and arm thrown over the back of the park bench, and nearly falls on his face.
"Well hey there good lookin." When he looks up the familiar, wide, toothy grin nearly stops his heart. It’s impossible, no, wait, so HIGHLY improbable that Steve can barely think straight. Sitting there, like he’d been waiting on Steve his whole life is -
Jack laughs and stands, taking two easy strides to where Steve stands, and damn if that’s not the most beautiful thing he’s seen since he woke up. He doesn’t know whether to join Jack in his laugh, or cry.
But his mind is made up for him, option C, when Jack pulls him in for a quick and hard kiss, stealing what little breath he had left.
"Someone owes me a dance."
why does this have 32k notes? it’s just a picture of a knife in a ranch bottle, is there some unspoken joke that 32 thousand people share? what is going on here, i dont get it. it’s just a fucking picture of a knife in a ranch bottle. is there some spiritual connection people have to this picture? is there some ominous and mystical reasoning that this has 32 thousand notes? do people reblog this because it makes them look like some indie blogger? or is there just something funny to this? someone please explain
no one tell him